Legend of the Crown and Thistle Read online

  Janie Brians (C) 2004

  213 Longhorn Street

  Glasgow, KY 42141

  Legend of the Crown &Thistle

  To my father, who taught me that this planet is full of exciting people

  and places and life is the journey to discover them.

  Thanks, Daddy, the journey is just beginning.

  September 18, 1585

  PROLOGUE

  His knuckles were white as he gripped tightly to the sides of his berth. Never before had

  he experienced anything like this. He had to close his eyes. His stomach was churning

  from the constant swaying of the ship. How much longer could the vessel endure this

  beating? He could vaguely hear snatches of the orders the captain was shouting to his

  men. They were trying desperately to keep the majestic ship afloat while riding out this

  hurricane. The relentless rain was driven nearly horizontal by the howling wind and he

  could hear it beating on the sides of the ship. He wondered how his brother was faring in

  the berth below him.

  "How are you?!" he yelled.

  "I think we cannot stay here! The storm is tearing the ship apart!"

  Without warning, both young men were hurled violently from their bunks and thrown

  across the room. A horrifying sound of splintering, cracking wood rivaled the screams of

  terror as the ship lurched dangerously on its port side. Dazed by the blow, it took them a

  few seconds to stand up. The ship had run aground and water was already streaming in

  under their cabin door.

  Coming out of his befuddlement, the eldest brother shouted, "Quickly! We must gather

  what we can and get off this vessel! It is only minutes away from sinking!"

  Hurriedly his younger brother collected some of their most cherished heirlooms while the

  older one found a sturdy coverlet to wrap them in. Laying it out on the bed, he motioned

  for his brother to put the precious items on it. Then he pulled the corners together and

  wrapped a strong cord around it and tied it securely.

  "Come on!"

  The ship jerked suddenly and sent them sliding back away from the door. Gathering their

  strength, the pulled themselves toward the door again. Upon opening the door they were

  immediately assaulted by the driving rain that stung their faces. Shielding their eyes as

  best they could, they crawled out onto the loudly creaking deck.

  All was chaos. Sails were torn to pieces and flapping wildly in the wind. The rapidly

  approaching darkness would bring even more terror to the scene. Those who could were

  jumping overboard in a last attempt to make it to the land they could barely see.

  "We must jump and swim for the shore!" the younger brother said.

  "You are right!" and the older brother pointed to several broken planks already floating

  on the water below, "take hold of a spar to stay afloat on!"

  Again they heard the vessel groan, as its wooden shell broke apart on the coral below. It

  was breaking in half before their eyes.

  After tying the makeshift sack to his waist, the eldest brother shouted, "Come on!"

  Both brothers jumped off the deck into the growing darkness and angry waves just as the

  ship's bow sunk beneath the churning waters......

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE LITTLE BOY'S blond hair glistens in the sun as he stands at the water's edge waiting for the next wave to roll in. He shrieks with delight as he runs back up the beach, playing tag with the foaming water.

  "Careful, love!" she calls out to him from a few feet away. He runs down closer to the water again and stands there waiting. "I know how you feel, little fellow," she thinks. "I remember my first day at the beach. The water held the same fascination for me then as it does for you now."

  She had never comprehended the size, sounds or smells of the ocean until she'd moved to the islands. Coming from a small town in Ohio, her only acquaintance with 'the big blue' had been through pictures in school books and library books and she had loved to look at them and hear her father's stories of pirates and tall sailing ships loaded down with treasures from India, gold and tobacco from the New World, and spices from the West Indies. Later on she learned about two female pirates named Anne Bonny and Mary Read, and her imagination was spurred on as she pictured herself one of them sailing on the high seas. Seas that one moment were tranquil and soothing and the next, a caldron spewing up mountains of water that could slam huge galleons onto the coral reefs not far beneath them. What had Edwin called it? "The fury of Neptune!" Edwin, dear Edwin. He would always be like a friend to her, even though they had never met, could never meet. But, although the ocean had become a prison to him, she would always love its changeableness and awesome beauty.

  Her own love of the ocean was, in fact, a reflection of the love her father had for it and it was that love that impelled him to a decision that would change their lives.

  "Girls," he said .speaking to Anne and her younger sister Lizzie, "you're mother and I have decided that the four of us are moving."

  If truth be told, the decision to move was more likely her father's who, over time and by enthusiastic persuasion, had won her mother over to the idea. But that had been the pattern of their relationship since they had first met. Her mother, at eighteen reluctant and shy, was won over by her dad's persistence and warmth. Six months later they were married. Only 10 months after that their first child , a girl, was born. Cynthia Anne Jones- born July 31,1957- daughter of Edward and Darlene Jones. Three years later their second daughter was born and named Elizabeth Sarah Jones. She became 'Lizzie' to her family and friends.

  One day, after 34 years of snow and ice, Ed said ,'enough' and, while on vacation in the islands, he was able to find employment as a corporate pilot. Six months later they were living there. How could Anne have known then that the secure life she would grow up with in that peaceful island community would one day be shattered by an evil lurking behind a mask of love? And never could she have foreseen the thrill she would enjoy in discovering lives that had been shrouded for centuries in secrecy and the astounding legacy they had left behind. To all of this the days and years would lead her. It all began from the day she and her family first arrived on the island.

  She was ten years old. Her memory of their first day there was of the four of them standing on the beach while cool waters of the Atlantic slid up the sand and over their bare feet. Anne found that when she looked directly down at her feet it seemed as if the beach moved back and forth under the water and it made her a little dizzy at first. Soon her feet disappeared beneath the sand and waves and she looked like she was standing only on her ankles. In front of her, turquoise waters shimmered in the afternoon sun. To her back was the island of Grand Bahama. One of the larger islands in a chain of some 700 islands and cays stretching from about 50 miles off the coast of Ft. Pierce, Florida, in the north to about 70 miles north of Cuba, in the south.

  The rolling, verdant hills of oak and maple trees seemed far away from this place. Here, sand-covered limestone formed the 'flowerpot' for a new and intriguing medley of plant-life. Majestic Royal Palms and Coconut Palms lined most of the major roads on the island while splashes of yellow, red or pale-pink hibiscus bushes and hot-pink bougainvillea vines adorned most every building. Their first home was in the center of the main town on the island. Freeport was a lively, tourist-oriented town that catered to great and small alike, from the Prince of Wales who visited from time to time, to the crowds of camera-wielding visitors that c
ould be seen everywhere on motor-scooters. It took her a while to get accustomed to the fact that everyone drove on the 'wrong' side of the road there. Her parents explained that the left-hand side of the road was the 'right' side to drive on since these islands were part of the British Empire and everyone drove on the left there too. Hmmm- different.

  All schools on the island were also fashioned after schools in England and the girls learned to call the school Principal, the "Headmaster" .Like all other children, they were required to wear school uniforms. Each school had its own colors. Their school's colors were green and white. Their teachers were imported from England and Scotland and so were their lessons. This meant, for example, that they learned about some famous people in history from a slightly different viewpoint than they had back in Ohio. For instance, they learned about that notorious rebel George Washington and his fellow malcontents who fled to the barbarous 'colonies.' But learning in Freeport was far from narrow or one-sided. They lived in a very international community. Besides the British influence there was also the very colorful and lively Bahamian culture with its "No worries, mon" pace of life, savory cooking and interesting twist on the English language. Before long Anne and Lizzie had picked up the accent and jargon and many times were mistaken for Bahamians. Their mother wondered if they'd ever speak proper English again, but in school they were quite proper.

  Their classmates and friends were also from around the world. Jamaica, England, the U.S., Canada, Japan, and Italy were just some of those countries. They had friends from as many as 29 different countries and always enjoyed learning about their customs, food and history. How thrilling it was to hear about those far-away places and has children both girls vowed to visit as many of them as they could when they grew up.

  In school, stories of the kings and queens of England and Spain and their rivalry for treasures from the New World enlivened many a history lesson. During summer holidays, these accounts lingered in their young and very active imaginations providing the incentive for many long days of exploring the island. Anne, Lizzie, and their friend Kate, would pack their bicycles with 'survival provisions' of chocolate bars and cokes and off they'd go into the mysterious unknown. Any track or trail in the woods was a road to exciting discoveries. The deeper they ventured in those darkening woods of pine-trees and cabbage palms, the higher their expectations grew. Perhaps they'd find a deserted castle or mansion abandoned centuries ago by a wealthy British nobleman! Or maybe they would uncover a cave hidden beneath the unrelenting growth of Spanish moss and vines. Dreams of treasure-chests overflowing with gold, rubies, sapphires, diamonds stolen by unscrupulous privateers or rascally pirates spurred them on through the nearly impassable growth. No matter that they found nothing. There was always another trail to take and anticipation was as exciting as reality to those three young adventurers.

  Weekends were times when mom and dad could join in the quest. After the more important things were done, they all donned bathing suits and sun-tan lotion and headed for the ocean., A 23-ft. boat with inboard/outboard motor allowed them to get practically anywhere. Their parents had bought it two years after they'd moved to Freeport and named it .quite appropriately, "Family Affair." So if no treasures could be found stashed away on land there was always the exciting possibility of treasures from under the sea. Everyone knew of the hundreds of stories about Spanish galleons running aground on the shallow reefs surrounding the island. Who knew what secrets were held within those beautiful coral reefs?

  One particularly beautiful Caribbean day they all climbed into the boat with their dad's scuba gear and their masks, snorkels, and fins. Slowly, they made their way out of the marina and Bell Channel. Reaching open ocean, their dad pushed the throttle forward and "Family Affair" came to life, her nose bouncing on the choppy waves. Anne and Lizzie always sat on the bow. How they loved the feel of the wind in their faces and the salt water spraying up at their dangling legs.

  The Jones family was meeting two other families at a reef that was about a mile off shore from Williamstown Beach, a beach named after the family that had first settled that area. A tiny village of no more than 20 homes sat a few hundred yards back from the beach. The Bahamians living there kept the place unspoiled and so, to the residents who wanted to enjoy the peace and beauty of a 'deserted' beach , untouched by the tourist crowd, it was a favorite spot. Usually, after a couple hours of snorkeling or diving, the group would head to that beach for a picnic. This day, though, finished off a bit differently.

  Just as Ed dropped anchor, the other two families appeared in their boats. Soon, "Wild Thing" and "Titanic II" were anchored near "Family Affair." Dads and kids put on their respective scuba or snorkeling gear, while the three moms prepared for a bit of peace and quiet whilst sunning themselves on the gently rocking boats.

  In they went. The water was so refreshing under the heat of the afternoon sun. No matter how often they snorkeled there, they always began with a feeling of wonderment at seeing the beauties and complexities of that aquatic world. Stands of Elkhorn coral and Fire coral reached out in all directions and provided many a hideout for little and big fish to scurry away to. But after a few minutes, the intruders were tolerated and the little creatures would appear again in their colorful array. Half-gold, half-purple Royal Grammas flitted here and there. Schools of black -and-white striped Sergeant Majors patrolled the reef and elegant Queen Angels, with their turquoise iridescence, glided by. Added to these were sea-fans of purple and yellow that swayed back and forth in rhythm with the tide.

  After snorkeling for about half an hour, Lizzie's excited squeals could be heard bubbling up out of her snorkel. Her rapidly moving fins propelled her to her father's side,

  "Daddy, come look! There's something shining down there in the sunlight!"

  Ed saw the glimmering object half hidden under some Fire coral and dove down to investigate. The two girls held their breath as he pulled something rectangular in shape and obviously man-made from beneath the coral. Then, as he took his knife and scraped the thin layer of crustaceans from it, it shimmered gold.

  "Gold!" Lizzie gasped.

  Even Ed was stunned by its obvious golden color. Could this really be gold? It weighed about 10 pounds and was 6-8 inches in length and about an inch thick. It looked like both ends had broken off, leaving a small semi-circular indentation at each broken end. In pictures he had seen of past discoveries of shipwrecks in these waters, Ed remembered that several Spanish galleons had been found that had carried gold bars of a similar size and shape as this one. They had had rounded ends with holes in each end for hanging on racks that were then stowed in the belly of the ship.

  Was this what Lizzie had found? A gold bar from an ancient Spanish galleon that had run aground near here centuries ago? Were there more to be found here? They searched the reef a while longer but, although they found no more bars, they did uncover some very old brass nails about 8 inches long and heavily encrusted with barnacles. Maybe they had come from the same ship that had carried the bar. Excitedly, they climbed into the boat and, calling their friends over, they showed them their finds.

  "Why don't you show these things to Malcolm at the museum. He might be able to give you some more information," said Don, owner of the "Wild Thing."

  "Good idea." Ed replied." Girls, let’s pull up anchor and head over there now." Malcolm McAllistair was the director of the Oceanic Antiquities Museum located in Port Lucaya and a member of The Underwater Explorer's Club which was next door to the museum. He had come to Freeport from Scotland about five years ago. Using his connections with some on the board of trustees from the Royal Department of Antiquities in London, he had gained the monetary support to fund several diving expeditions in the area as well as set up the museum. Now, at the age of 30, he was considered one of the most experienced divers on the island and an authority on the history surrounding these islands.

  "Seems like you've made an exciting discovery, lass." he said to Lizzie. With a smile and a twinkle in his blue eye
s he handed the bar back to her and invited them all to sit down.

  "Could it really be be gold?" Darlene asked in hushed tones.

  "Tis a might too heavy to be pure gold. You see, pure gold is relatively soft and not so heavy as one might think. However, it doesn't rule out the possibility that it could be gold mixed in with another heavier metal, like brass, for instance."

  "Why do that?" Ed asked.

  "Ah, for a very good reason, Ed. Many of these ships carried bars of pure gold very similar in shape to the one Lizzie is holding. And, as was probably true of yours, those bars were rounded on each end with a hole in it to store them on racks in the ship. But bars of pure gold were vulnerable to thieves. Sailors could sneak down and shave off bits of the gold for themselves. So, to stop this from occurring, the gold began to be mixed in with brass or other harder metals to be melted down again upon arrival at their destination. As you can see with your bar, it can't be cut very easily at all."

  "So at least it could have some gold in it?" Lizzie asked hopefully.

  "Yes, it could. But there may also be another explanation. You see, it could be an "end piece."

  "End piece? What do you mean?" Anne asked with a sense of impending disappointment.

  "Well, usually at both ends of the racks that held those gold bars, there were bars of the same shape and size made completely of brass. They were used to keep the gold bars in place, to keep them from sliding back and forth especially during rough seas."

  "How can we find out if their is any gold in it or not ?" Lizzie asked.

  "You'd probably have to have it melted down." her dad said.

  "But if there isn't any gold, we won't have anything left, right? The bar will be gone."

  "I suppose that's a chance you'll have to take if you want to know for sure, lass. But from my point of view, to have a piece of history is far more valuable than the money you may gain from destroying it." the museum director replied.